Like Brothers
by TimelessTears
Summary: He almost left them there to die. But then he saw the boy and he just couldn't do it. Someone intervened that night outside the opera house. That someone was Jack.
1. The Angel with the Slingshot

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Knight.**_

**The Angel with the Slingshot**

It was a full moon the night they went to the opera. Legend had it that the full moon brought out the freaks and criminals. Not that anyone could actually _see_ the moon in the Gotham. The industrial city was filled with smog that covered up the beautiful celestial bodies at night.

The stars and the moon were the last things one the mind of Bruce Wayne as he watched a man point a gun at his parents.

"Hand over all your money and jewelry." The dirty man hissed as he cocked his gun. Bruce flinched at the sound.

"All right. That's fine. Here, take my wallet." Thomas Wayne offered as he slowly took his billfold out of his coat and held it out for the mugger to take.

Bruce wanted to scream, to tell his father not to do it, not to give that vile man any money. What he wouldn't give to just make that man vanish into thin air. To just go poof! And be gone. But that's not how life worked. Bruce wished they were back inside the opera house watching the play that he hadn't even understood. He wanted to grab both his parents rush back inside and watch the rest of the show, never mind the bats. . .

He paled suddenly as his mind came to a horrifying conclusion. This was all his fault! If he hadn't been such a baby, if he hadn't been so afraid of bats, they would still be in there and this would have never happened. After all, the only reason they had left in the first place was because of him and his stupid fear.

"I said jewelry too!" The man yelled, shaking Bruce out of his inner thoughts. The man was looking at his mother's pearl necklace with a greedy glint in his eye. The one his father had just bought her.

The man made a violent gesture and began to walk towards his mother, the gun aimed at her chest. This is it, Bruce thought; watching in shock. This man is going to kill my mother just because she's wearing a pretty necklace. Then he's going to kill dad and me. Bruce felt numb at that realization as he watched his mother; too scared to move himself. She was frozen in fear and his father stepped in front of her, the man stopped and readjusted his aim, his finger about the squeeze the trigger. . .Bruce closed his eyes. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to see. . .

. . .and that's when fate decided to intervene.

* * *

Though the opera was considered a thing for the blue bloods of society to enjoy, it was located in a rather run down location near the Narrows.

Jack Napier huffed as he rubbed his hands against his shoulders, trying to keep to cold out of his bare-rag clothes. He was small for his age, with curly dirty-blond hair and green eyes. Everything about him screamed poor because, well, he was. He lived in the Narrows where everyone was poor and while he had heard of children who were rich and could wake up every day in a warm house with good clothes and food, he had never actually seen any, let alone met one. Sometimes he suspected it was something the adults and older kids made up so that the younger the children could at least have nice dreams about in their tiny broken beds.

In any case, he wouldn't be sleeping on a mattress tonight. His father had gotten drunk and had kicked him out tonight for not cleaning the dishes (which he did, but frankly, it's hard to clean a dish when the water's always dirty). It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the first time it had happened in the winter. His mother had always convinced his father to give Jack a different punishment in the winter time. One that didn't involve sleeping outside. She had always done her best to protect Jack from his dear old dad- she even took beatings for him, but he wished she hadn't.

She's dead now.

Jack glared at the ground as he kicked a crunched beer can out of his way with his torn up shoe. They called it a suicide, but Jack knew better. He knew his dad had killed her and made it look like she slit her wrists. Heck, after he'd done it he'd woken Jack up and showed him.

"This is what I'm gonna do to you if you ever try to disobey me. Only they'll find yer body in a dumpster, ya got that?" The drunken man slurred as the boy sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face as his small hand caressed his mother's arm, his fingers bloody as he retreated and silently went to his room, his father booming with laughter.

Her body had still been warm.

Jack shook his head violently, trying to get the images out of his head. It had already turned out to be a bad night; he didn't need those reminders to make it worse. He was thankful for finding and old beat-up hat and scarf to help against the cold as a gust of air hit him full force. Now all he needed were some gloves and he'd be set for at least three years.

Now here's a bit of insight about Jack: for an eight year old he's very frugal in all the things he does. At school he is extremely quiet and harsh lessons in life taught him to blend into the background quite easily. The bullies usually didn't even realize he was there but even when they did they ignored him. They heard about what he did to the last kid that messed with him. Amazing what you could do to someone with just a sharpened pencil. His mom taught him that trick. Just because he couldn't defend himself at home didn't mean he couldn't outside. Small he may be, but he could pick up just about anything and turn it into a weapon. Though poor, he still loved to learn and ended up nabbing an old beaten-up dictionary from his school. Most of the pages had been ripped out and the ones that were left had a lot of doodles on them, but he could still make out some of the faded words. His favorite one so far was chaos. Not only did he like the meaning but the word itself! It was just so much fun to say. _Cha-os,_ he thought with a big grin.

"I said jewelry too!" Someone shouted, shaking him out of his thoughts. Curious, he walked to where he heard the voice coming from. Was it a mob hold up? Maybe they were taking care of a squealer and his family. Whatever the case was it would help pass the time. The mod never minded if people from the Narrows watched them pop a guy. The mod knew they would never go to the cops and it helped serve as a reminder to one and all.

But when Jack rounded to corner he stopped dead.

Oh. It was just a mugging.

Taking a closer look, he noticed something odd, the people where dressed rather nicely. No, nicely wasn't good enough, like royalty or gods. They were, they were. . .

. . ._rich. _His mind whispered and he found himself in shock because he didn't realize those types of people really existed. He always thought they were fairy tales.

Jack had never been out of the Narrows until tonight and he hadn't even realized he'd left. For a moment his heart was filled with rage and envy. These people probably had everything handed to them on a silver platter. Had they ever felt real pain? Had they ever had to actually work one day? To lift even their pinky finger? Most likely not, he snorted. Filled with disgust at these people, he began to leave. He almost left, almost turned back the way he came and let these rich, pompous people have a taste of _real_ life.

Then he saw the boy. The boy with big blue eyes filled with fear and worry, standing in the back watching the man with the gun. The boy had brown hair and looked about his age. Jack felt an odd feeling in his chest; he felt as if this boy and himself could have been friends. What really jolted Jack into acting was the mother (he assumed). He watched as the mugger walked closer to her, saw her pale and begin to shake. His own mother flashed through his mind. Her body motionless on the floor with blood pooling out of her and he couldn't bear to think that another child would have to feel the same pain he felt when he saw her like that.

Mostly, he was apathetic. But this was one thing he would not stand for.

He saw the father step in front of the mother and he watched as the man began to pull the trigger. Quick as a flash, he took out his sling shot and a stone he had picked up earlier. Adjusting it in the strap, he took aim.

"Hey mister!" He shouted letting the rock loose. The man jerked his head in Jack's direction and pulled the trigger but it was too late. The stone made contact with the gun sending it to the ground, as well as the bullet. Cursing the man turned back around the grab the gun but it was already pointed back at him in the hands of Thomas Wayne.

"Whoa," the mugger said nervously, "whoa. Look man, I was just trying to get some money to feed my family with, honestly. These are desperate times. Please don't shoot me. Here, here's your money back." The man whispered, tossing the wallet near finely polished shoes. After doing so, he broke in to a run, fleeing into the darkness.

Letting all the tension out of his body with a big sigh, Thomas Wayne took out the remaining bullets and pocketed the gun. Turning to his wife and son he smiled and held out his arms. Sobbing in relief, Martha Wayne hugged him tightly as well as Bruce.

"Thank God." She mumbled into his shoulder. "Thank God."

"Yes." Thomas answered back. "Thank God." Letting go of her, he crouched down to give his son a better hug.

"You alright, son?" He asked, taking the child into his arms. Bruce nodded before bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry!" He cried. "I'm sorry I just stood here doing nothing! I'm sorry I asked to leave early! If I hadn't been so scared, I. . ."

"Bruce. Bruce, look at me." Thomas told his son in a serious voice. Watery blue eyes turned to his. "This was not your fault. There is no way you could have known that man would have been here. And I would rather have you behind me doing nothing in this kind of situation than in front of that man trying to stop him. That's how people die and that's the last thing I want to happen to you. So don't cry and blame yourself, alright?"

"That's right honey." Martha said in a comforting voice as she too bent down to hug her son. "We don't blame you. We would never blame you."

Jacked watched this in silence; his heart feeling like it had been stabbed a thousand times over. Why couldn't he have been born into a loving family like that? What had that boy done to deserve such loving parents? Jack didn't recall ever doing anything truly bad, so why couldn't he have that? Shaking his head, he realized that there were no answers to those questions and decided he would just be happy for the boy. But when he moved to leave, he caught the attention of Thomas Wayne.

"Wait!" He shouted as he stood up, breaking the hug and slowly walking toward the tiny-now motionless- figure. Sadly, he couldn't see much of the boy's face because a ratty scarf covered his mouth and an oversized hat covered most of his hair. However, he did manage to catch a glimpse at startled green eyes.

"You're the one who threw the rock, right?" The boy frantically shook his head no and Thomas let out a chuckle. "Ah, so the sling shot your holding is just for show?" He teased and grinned as an embarrassed blush bloomed across the boy's face as he hastily shoved the weapon into the pocket of his ill-fitting pants. He frowned when the boy backed up slightly.

"Hey, it's ok. I just want to thank you. You saved my family tonight and I'm very grateful." Thomas wanted to do more than just say 'thank you'. Those words alone were nowhere near what he owed this child. It was clear just from his clothing that this boy was poor. . .and probably abused if the bruise he saw peeking out from beneath the scarf was any indication. His mind was filled with thoughts of taking this boy back to the Manor, letting him heal and possibly finding him a better home. Anything to repay this child that he just knew helped saved his family tonight.

Mean while, Jack watched in trepidation as the man neared him. He hadn't planned on being seen and he certainly didn't want to be thanked. He tried denying it but the man pointed out his sling-shot that Jack cursed himself for forgetting to put it away. For some reason this man scared him. Jack had never spoken to a man that acted this nice. He had tons of questions that he _wanted _to ask. Mundane things like how it felt to smile on a regular basis and if it this man was as rich as Jack suspected. If he was then was it fun to spend money on pricey things? Did they live in a big house? What was the boy's name? Would it be okay for them to play together sometime? If the other wanted to that is; Jack could teach him so cool pencil tricks! All these questions he had bottled up inside and he couldn't find the words to say them. He was use to yelling and screaming; not conversations which actually required him to respond. Feeling a pressure in his chest, Jack took a chance and started to run back home. To what he knew and expected.

As Thomas opened his mouth again, the boy shot off; running as fast as his small legs could carry him. He called for him to stop but the boy kept on running and was soon out of sight. Sighing he turned to his family.

"Who was that dad?" Bruce asked he looked in the direction the boy had gone.

"An angel son." Thomas told him. "Most defiantly an angel. Come on, let's go home." As they walked toward their car Bruce turned his head to look back one more time.

He'd find that boy someday, he vowed silently to himself. That boy had saved his mom and his dad's life tonight. He'd find that angel with a sling shot and thank him.

**To be continued.**

**A/N: So one day I was thinking how cool it would be if the Joker and Bruce had met as children. At this point in my timeline, Jack has yet to receive his famous scars which I think was the last straw before he went insane. However, I did try to make his personality more cautious and dangerous than a typical eight year old due to the fact that he is extremely poor as well as abused. **

**Sorry to all who will be expecting slash. This is going to be a brotherly fic. A different take on the line "You complete me."**

**Constructive criticism is welcomed. **


	2. Everlasting Smile

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Knight.**

**

* * *

  
**

_**Everlasting Smile**_

It had been four years since the attempted mugging outside of the opera house and things had changed dramatically in the Wayne household. Well, Bruce had changed anyway.

The twelve year old had been attending Charleston's Private Academy for young boys for two years now. The school only allowed those from most elite families to enter into its prestigious program and Bruce happened to be one of those privileged children. Like all children though, he desired nothing more than to fit in with his peers.

"Say Bruce, are your parents taking you anywhere interesting over summer vacation?" John Lovington asked as Bruce was cleaning out his locker.

"I don't know. If we are going somewhere, they haven't said anything to me about it. Maybe it's a surprise." Bruce replied causally, closing his locker. Together they walked down the vast marble halls to the outside courtyard where several fancy cars with chauffeurs were waiting for their young masters.

"Well if it turns out they're going to be 'boring' parents this summer, ask them if you can come with me. My family's going to be traveling all over Europe this summer. In style of course." John added with a wink as he patted Bruce on the back before they split up.

"I'm sure we're going somewhere but if there's a slim chance that we're not I'll be sure to ask." Bruce laughed as he reached the car where Alfred was waiting for him. Alfred opened up the door for him, and Bruce waved one last time to John before getting in the car. As Alfred started the car and began pulling out of the drive, Bruce rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

"Bye John! Enjoy your summer!" He yelled before ducking back inside.

"I don't suppose it would be presumptuous of me to say that you had a good school year Master Wayne?" Alfred asked not taking his eyes off the road.

"No Alfred. Not at all."

"What do you mean we're not going anyway this summer?!" Bruce yelled loudly at his parents. After coming home and greeting both of them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he was told they would be staying in Gotham over the summertime.

"Bruce Anthony Wayne don't you dare use that tone of voice with us." His mother said sharply. "You heard your father. He's working on a big project to help bring better and more affordable health benefits to the poor. They need help more than we need to go on a vacation."

"What? How can you even say that?" Bruce asked his face pinched in disgust. "There's already a bunch of programs out there to help the poor. They don't need any more help! And they have nothing to do with us!"

"Bruce," His father started out calmly. "I know you're upset, but these people do need help. I work with them everyday down at the hospital-"

"You. You work with them. Not me. Not mom. _You_." Bruce accused, cutting him off. "Why should I have to suffer just because those people are too stupid to know how to get health insurance?"

"One, you will not interrupt me again." Thomas said sternly. "And two, those people are not stupid; they can't afford health insurance. Bruce I just want to help the community. We are a privileged family and we should find a way to give back. To show that we care about the people of Gotham. All the people."

But Bruce didn't care. The poor had nothing to do with him.

"Then can I go with John and his family to Europe?" He wheedled, trying for a different approach.

"No."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so." Thomas said. He didn't tell Bruce that it was a little known fact that the Lovington family had strong ties with the Mafia and that there was no way he was letting his son go on a vacation with them.

"That's not fair." Bruce yelled, as frustrated tears began to roll down his face. Why couldn't his parents understand that all he wanted to do was enjoy his summer vacation? Not to be stuck in dreary old Gotham.

"Bruce, honey, I know you're upset, but please try to understand." Martha said gently has she tried to wipe away some of his tears. Realizing that his parents would not budge on the subject, Bruce shoved her hand away and ran to his run yelling out a strangled, "I hate you!"

Both parents sighed as they heard the door slam.

"Young adolescents. Such joy." Alfred said dryly as he entered to room with a tray of tea.

"Maybe we should let him go with that other boy." Martha said as she took a sip of her tea as she sat on the sofa.

"No. Bruce needs to learn that he cannot have everything he wants. Besides, the Lovington's are in deep with the mob and I do not want him getting mixed up in that sort of thing." Thomas told her, also taking a seat.

"Well he does have a point darling. It can get awfully dull just staying in Gotham. Especially for a young boy with nothing do. Maybe we could take a short trip near the end of August. Before school starts up." Martha reasoned.

"Martha I'm not budging on this topic. But you are right. Perhaps I'll take Bruce with me to the hospital so he can see what I do."

"I do believe Mrs. Dawes and her daughter will be staying in Gotham the whole summer." Alfred told them before leaving the room.

"Now that's an idea." Martha said, a smile lighting up her face. "If he truly gets bored we could invite Rachel over!"

"Don't you know all twelve year old boys think girls are icky?" Thomas asked with a grin.

"Don't _you_ know that all girls use that to their advantage?" She replied in kind. Laughing, he put his arm over her shoulder and gave her a kiss.

"So have you had any luck?" She asked him softly.

"Luck?"

"Don't be coy. I know you're still looking for that boy." She told him.

_Never could get anything past you. _Thomas thought. It was one of the many things he loved about his wife. "No luck yet. I thought about just going down to the Narrows myself and asking around, but that's far too dangerous."

"I'm sure you'll find him." Martha told him soothingly.

"I'm not so sure any more." He told her tiredly. "I don't have a good physical description of him first off, and people from the Narrows rarely go to the hospital. For all I know he could be dead. The mob erases so many people these days it's a very big possibility. . ." he trailed off.

The mob had gotten a lot more aggressive in the recent years. The Falcone family alone had influence over many powerful individuals. They practically ran this town and Thomas hated them for that.

"I could have slapped him." He confessed to his wife.

"Excuse me?"

"Bruce. When he said the poor had nothing to do with us. I could have slapped him. I almost did." Getting up off the couch, he walked over to the window and stared at the city before looking back at his wife.

"It was because of a poor child that we are still here today."

* * *

"I fold." Jack sighed as he placed his cards on the table.

"That was smart." A giggling redhead told him as she shuffled the deck. "I would have crushed you."

"Ha ha." The boy said sarcastically as he waited for her to finish.

"If ya don't mind me askin' darling, what exactly is a pretty little thing like you doing in such a dark place, hmm?" She asked, not looking up as she began to shuffle the deck one more time.

"Mr. Falcone hired me. I'm his personal punching bag." The boy grumbled. Over the past years as the mob got bolder, a new tradition began to take root. Mob bosses began going to parents in the Narrows to 'rent' their children for a few weeks. The children were used for various things; cleaning, deliveries, sex, test subjects for new drugs, and other horrifying things.

Normally, these kids were found in alley ways and dumpsters after they were no longer needed.

"Well that explains that nasty shiner you got. Tough luck love." She told him benevolently as she began dealing out the cards.

"And you? Are you the new, uh, _mistress_, Mr. Falcone hired?"

"You can just say prostitute darlin'," She laughed. "I won't be offended; it is what I do."

"I don't like that word." Jack mumbled as he picked up his cards. "Do. . .do you get paid a lot?" It was something he always wondered about.

"Hmmm, depending on the customer and what they want, I can make up eight hundred dollars on one customer."

"That's a lot of money." Jack whistled. "By the end of the week you'd have enough to leave this stupid place." He told her, referring to the Narrows.

"Now you know that's not how it works. It takes more than money to leave this place."

"What else would you need?"

"The _will_ for one thing and a place to go for another."

Well Jack defiantly had the will to leave. Maybe. . .

"Don't you be gettin' any stupid ideas." She told him austerely. "Children sellin' themselves on the street is not somethin' I endorse."

"But the money-"

"-always comes at a price. Don't get blinded by greed. You live down here; you _know_ what happens to kids who try to pull that shit and very few make it to see the next two months let alone next year. 'Sides, shouldn't you be more worried about your current predicament?"

"Probably." Jack replied, looking at his cards. He honestly didn't know what he would do if Falcone had him killed. He could try to defend himself but everyone in the mob had a gun and none of Jack's tricks could save him from a gunshot wound.

"Darlin', it's your turn to draw." His companion said, breaking from his thoughts. As he looked at the card he drew he smiled slightly.

The Joker.

Before he could make his play, they heard the front door bang open and footsteps come near the back room where they were playing. As the door opened, Jack jumped up and stood ramrod straight.

"Good evening, Master Falcone." He said with a bow.

Carmine Falcone looked around the room with a scrutinizing eye, before back-handing Jack .

"What the hell are you guys doing?" he spat. "I didn't pay you so you could play cards with some damn kid, get up to the bedroom you slut!" He shouted at the woman. Calmly she picked up the cards and as she passed Jack, she brushed up against him. Giving him a sympathetic glance she left the room.

"The drug deal went astray tonight." Falcone said sourly as he kicked Jack so hard that the boy hit the wall. "Lost at least fifty grand because some chump 'accidently' damaged the goods." Falcone grumbled as he walked towards Jack. He stood there for a moment, looking atJack with an odd glint in his eye before speaking.

"Y'know something, Jack? I've noticed something interesting about you. Since the moment I bought you from your pops, I noticed you were _different_." Grabbing Jack by the root of his hair, he pulled to boy up and whispered in his ear.

"You don't _fear _me." As he said this, Jack found himself being slammed repeatedly against the wall.

"Did you know you have to most expressive eyes? That's what drew me to you. I can read everything in those eyes of yours." Falcone told the boy.

"I see your hate for me, I see your anger and disappointment at the fact that you can't leave. I see that you don't care when I off a guy in front of you _but I can't see your fear_." Jack tried to listen, but his head had been bashed against the wall so many times that he was getting dizzy and seeing black spots. Finally, Falcone dropped him to the floor.

"Let me tell you something Jack; to have control of something you have to have power." The mob boss told him as he clapped his hands twice. Immediately, his men came in from all the back and front doors and Jack knew it was going to be bad.

"The power that I use to run this town is fear Jack, and if you don't fear me then I'm afraid I can't let you go without making sure I leave a . . . lasting impression." That being said, Falcone took out a knife and handed it to his right-hand man.

"I noticed you don't smile much Jack, and that's a shame. Why so serious Jack? Children should smile. Now, I'd love to help you out myself, but I've got a lady waiting on me upstairs. Don't worry; my guys will get the job done." As he walked toward to door he turned around one more time.

"Boy's," he said with a grin. "make sure to put an everlasting smile on his face. Oh, and be sure to drop him off in the heart of Gotham; we want everyone to see Jack's beautiful grin, don't we?"

As the door shut, the men looked at Jack with grim smiles.

"Well, you heard the boss." The one with the knife said as kneeled down next to Jack and stuck the knife in his mouth. It had been a long time since he felt it, but Jack knew what the dread building up inside him was.

"_Let's put a smile on that face_."

Then, only searing pain and laughter.

* * *

Jim Gordon heaved a big sigh as he sat on a bus bench. He'd been assigned the early morning patrol and had been radioed to help catch a man that had broken into a jewelry shop. After wondering for two hours, it was discovered that it had just been a prank call by some kids.

Little punks.

Groaning, he stood up and began to walk back to his patrol car (they told him the 'suspect' would be easier to find on foot. Hah!) when he heard an odd sound, like a whimper, coming from and alley way he'd just passed. Backing up, he took out his flashlight and cautiously walked into the darkness.

"Hello?" he called out as he heard more whimpers of pain. Shining his flashlight in different directions he stepped further in, his other hand on his gun; just in cased.

"Hello?" He called again. "My name is Officer Gordon. I'm with Gotham PD, I heard crying. Please, if you're severely injured, tell me where you are. I'll take you to the hosp-" He heard a sob from behind and quickly turned around, his flashlight shining right into hazy bottle-green eyes.

"My God." Gordon whispered as he took a good look at the child propped up against a dumpster. It was clear from the way his right arm was dangling that it had been dislocated. There was blood running down the boys face and Gordon would bet a month's pay that at least two ribs was broken.

The most peculiar thing though, was that the boy was using his left arm to cover up his mouth.

"Hey son." Gordon said softly as he crouched next to the tiny figure. "I know you're hurt and you probably don't want to move, but I need to get to a hospital." Though it was clear pain was clouding most of the boy's vision, he still gave a tiny shake of his head.

"I promise they will be nice to you at the hospital." Gordon reasoned and received the same answer. As he looked the child over one more time, he noticed the boy still kept most of his lower face covered by his arm, but Gordon could still see some cuts on his upper cheeks. A trill of horror shot through him.

"Hey," He started out slowly. "let me see your mouth." Immediately, the boy became more frantic in his shaking, so Gordon reached out to hold him still. At the same time, he managed to maneuver the kid's arm down to his sides and got a good look at the boys face. Giving a heavy sigh, he lowered his head.

_Glasgow smile_. _I'm so sorry kid. . ._

"It's not that bad. . ." he tried to reassure the boy as he looked up from the ground and realized that the boy had passed out.

"It's probably better that you passed out. Easier for both me and you." Gordon told the unconscious child as he carefully picked the child up. As he walked back to his car, his fatherly instincts woke up.

"I promise you won't have to go back where you came from. I'll find who did this to you and put them behind bars. That's the promise of a lifetime." He whispered to the boy as he carefully laid him on the backseat before driving off to the hospital.

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**A/N: Big thanks to Alice's Restaurant for her wonderful review. I went back and fixed those mistakes. :)**


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